


Forty Days and Forty Fights

by athousandelegies



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bible, Noah's Ark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5872759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandelegies/pseuds/athousandelegies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Arrangement Aziraphale and Crowley are not on the best of terms, to say the least, so Crowley usually does his best to stay out of the angel's way. But when an almighty storm forces him to the only dry thing on the globe, he ends up sharing very close quarters with Heaven's surliest agent. </p><p>(Alternative summary, bc I can't help myself: "Lots of snark on Noah's Ark")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It would have been nice to have gotten a memo.

It didn't even have to be all that elaborate. A simple "Hey there Crowley, the _whole planet_ is about to be _utterly submerged_ so you better gather up your stuff and get to some high ground quick!" would have sufficed.

As it was, he'd found out through humans, not his infernal superiors, about the oncoming flood that currently had him flying for his life through increasingly vicious rain.

* * *

"Have you heard what that madman Noah is up to these days?" one man was asking another. Crowley kept his eyes on the drink in front of him, but he perked up his ears: Noah and his family were just about the only humans left who were still on Heaven's side. It was always wise to keep tabs on enemies' doings.

"Oh gods," the man's drinking companion grunted, slamming his tankard down, "let me guess: wasting time and resources building another one of those altars? We've told him to quit with those things, they're such an eyesore."

"It's even _bigger_ than an altar," the first fellow responded with glee. Other drinkers were listening too now, and he raised his voice to accommodate them, clearly delighted to have an audience. "I'll give you all a hint: what's huge and hollow and absolutely useless in a desert?"

"No," one man gasped, and let out a mighty guffaw. "You don't mean to tell me…"

"Yes!" the first man bellowed, "a damned _boat_!"

Hoots and hollers filled the inn. "No way!" they exclaimed. "A damned boat!" they chortled. "I need to see this with my own eye!" one of them, a grisly bloke with one socket closed over, declared.

Crowley followed behind the group as they set out to behold this spectacle. Perhaps old Noah was simply mad — he was certainly ancient enough to be senile by now — but Crowley's gut told him otherwise. Back in Hell he hadn't _had_ a gut, so while he was in a physical form he always resolved to make good use of it. And right now, it was telling him to check out this bizarre construction project.

It was a long trek, taking them far from the protection of the village limits and deep into the wilderness. A few scuffles broke out as they walked, primarily over the water pouches of the few who had thought to bring some, but Crowley made sure to keep well back from them. No need to urge the humans along towards wickedness and debauchery these days — they did it all themselves, leaving Crowley to do his best to survive the chaos and take the credit for their misdeeds. He'd received several commendations in the past couple years already.

At last they came to Noah's homestead, the semicircle of huts where he and his family — his wife and sons and their wives and children, a small village in themselves — dwelt. On a rising in the earth close by stood a stone altar. A young man was kindling the fire burning on it, and Crowley caught a whiff of smoke on the breeze. His stomach pitched and he grimaced — it had been a while since he'd been in the proximity of a burnt offering, and he'd forgotten the discomfort of being in the presence of something holy.

His companions were not paying any attention to the altar, however; they were looking farther off, where the skeleton of a mighty ship thrust its bow heavenwards. Several silhouettes dotted the framework, and the sounds of the hammering and sawing made it to their ears. The villagers murmured amongst themselves, some sounding amused and others angry, all perplexed.

"Wasting perfectly good wood…" some grumbled.

"Fool!" others laughed. "Wasting the few years left to him!"

Hearing them, the youth on the hill turned from his oblations. He watched calmly as the men jeered at him. Then, walking serenely, he made his way down the hill and into the largest of the huts.

A moment later, he reemerged, a figure following after him.

A twinge like a dagger sliced through Crowley's stomach for a moment, before he willed the pain to subside. He really had grown unaccustomed to holy essences, he mused, as the figure approached. He knew immediately who it was, of course.

Aziraphale. That angel from Eden who had proven such a nuisance ever since. Back at the Beginning, Crowley had hoped for something like an tentative peace between them, but no such luck: his heavenly counterpart never permitted Crowley to get close to him, attacking the demon off whenever he tried.

Aziraphale clearly recognized Crowley's presence now, acknowledging the demon with a curt nod before turning to the men at the front of the crowd.

"If you mean this family harm, turn back now," the angel proclaimed. "If you come only to observe, you may do so."

The villagers jeered at him just as they had at the youth, who stood several paces behind Aziraphale now. A few even barked out rude comments and threats. But none stepped forward: this person, so uncommanding in looks, held power in his sonorous voice that made them all think twice about assaulting him.

"We wish only to watch," one of the largest of the men said at last.

"Then do so in peace," the angel granted, motioning them towards the clearing where the ark was being built.

As the villagers made their way towards the ark, Crowley stayed behind, until it was only him, Aziraphale, and the youth, who made his way back to the altar.

"So…how've you been?" he asked, just to break the silence.

"Fine," the angel answered tersely. "Now I suggest you leave, unless you wish to entangle with an Agent of the Holy One today."

"Oh, come on!" Crowley objected. "Tell me this, Angel of the Burning Sword, why can't we just…get along?"

Aziraphale eyed him coldly. No one would accuse this angel of bearing the light of Heaven's compassion in his gaze, Crowley noted, but Heaven's wrath? Certainly.

"I think we both know why, _serpent_ ," Aziraphale answered, emphasizing the last word. The angel continued to stand still, arms folded in his robes, impassive as stone, but Crowley heard the warning in his counterpart's tone.

"Ah, right, eternal enemies and all that," Crowley said, throwing up his hands. "Fighting for different sides, aiming for opposite outcomes, no use in getting together now and then to exchange gossip. I hear you loud and clear."

"Be off, Crawly."

"It's _Crowley_ now," the demon said crossly as he turned on his heel and sauntered away. _Every time._

* * *

A year passed and nothing came of Noah's boat. The old man and his family didn't stop working on it, but after a whole year it was only half completed, and the villagers grew bored of ogling its construction and mocking Noah. Crowley, meanwhile, grew bored of the village. Watching humans beat each other up and stab one another in the back wasn't very enjoyable when he wasn't the one instigating it. Time to move on, he figured. Surely somewhere there were humans still in need of corrupting.

He'd considered trying to sway Noah's family to wickedness — that would have been quite a notch in his belt — but there was simply no hope of it: Aziraphale watched over them constantly, and besides, they truly seemed incorruptible. And so he'd moved on, shrugging off the boat project as some act of divine symbolism: Upstairs was _very_ into symbolism (as he was all too aware from personal experience — as soon as he'd pulled off the whole stunt with the fruit while in a serpentine form, they'd made sure snakes would be a symbol of cunning and deceit for all time).

And so he'd moved on, and another year passed by in a blur of general chaos — either he had done a superb job in moving all humankind towards vice, or they were simply naturals at it on their own, because everywhere he traveled he met only violence and depravity.

He more or less forgot about Noah and his ark, soon enough.

Until the first raindrops slammed into the earth.

He'd camped out in a tall tree in a forest the night before, deciding he needed a break from humans. The thick canopy above him concealed the gathering storm-clouds until he awoke to rain drumming against the leaves around him — not a soothing tapping but heavy, vicious strokes powerful enough to cleave past the foliage to the forest floor below.

His gut told him what it was before he had finished climbing to the top of his tree: a storm unlike any the world had ever seen.

He ripped the dregs of sleepiness from his mind, connecting the storm with an image: the ark. _This_ was what Heaven was up to.

 _Damn_ them. Them above for doing this and Hell below for not bothering to fill him in.

Unfurling his wings, he launched himself from his branch and into the storm. Raindrops pelted his feathers, his spine, his exposed head like nails, merciless as Heaven, trying to drag him down to earth. Pumping fiercely, every muscle in this sometimes-too-human form straining, he pulled himself forward through space that was more water than air.

If this was the end of the world, he was going to fight it like hell.

Three hours he flew, far past the point when a mortal body would have given out. He could not see in front of him, so thickly fell the rain, but his destination tugged at him like a lifeline: he would make it to the ark if it killed him — or this body he was in, rather.

The downbeats of his wings came more and more spread apart as the rain fell harder and harder, but a sudden twist in his stomach renewed his hopes. The ark, the sole point of holiness remaining anywhere on Earth, was near.

He let out a pained shout as he touched down upon the ark's roof, but the cry was swallowed by the pounding of the rain. His bare feet burned where they touched the wood—Noah must have consecrated the whole blessed boat.

But temporary discomfort or even flat-out pain was better than a discorporation that might prove irreversible — if the world really were ending, he doubted Hell would issue him a new one.

He placed his palm flat on the roof's surface, grunting as his hand glowed red-hot, steaming in the chilly rainfall.

Focusing all his will on the slippery wood beneath his hand, he nearly slipped off the slick slanted roof, but managed to grab onto the hole he'd opened up just in time. Pulling himself into the opening, he slipped into the arc. The hole closed up as soon as he dropped through.

Crowley shook out his exhausted wings and willed himself dry. The room he had dropped into was dim, but as he stood straight and peered around, his heart froze.

A pair of deep brown eyes stared back at him from a roughly hewn chair.

"A-Aziraphale!" Crowley said nervously as the angel began to rise. "Fancy meeting you here…How's it going?"


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as the Lord had swung the door of the ark shut (or rather, Aziraphale, acting on divine orders, had miracled it shut), Aziraphale asked to be shown to his quarters.

Noah and his family were elated to have an angel on board. After two years of guarding the construction of the ark in exchange for their hospitality, they had worried that Aziraphale would fly back to Heaven — but no, he assured them, he would be seeing this sea voyage through with them. And he expected his own private room.

Aziraphale sat in shadow as rain hammered a rhythm that was anything but soothing into the roof above his head. He was meditating, struggling to shut down the thoughts and emotions that kept rising to the surface of his brain. Grief. Anger. Anxiety.

Gone, all gone, the civilizations he had watched arise from the mud. Only this family remained of the stock of Adam and Eve, those two poor wretches he had helped through a different storm some time ago.

_Why_ had this been necessary? Fury welled up in him, but he quickly tamped it down. _Ineffable_ , he repeated to himself, letting the word become a mantra. _Ineffable_ is the will of God. The world had been full of wicked people; a clean slate was in order to allow these few pious humans to thrive.

_But_ , a voice in the back of his head objected, piety does not always beget piety. Evil will re-enter the world even through the loins of these holy people. And what then? Another flood? Another clean slate? Would Aziraphale have to bear witness, age after age, to the purging of all he held dear on this planet?

_Ineffable_ , he thought more insistently, allowing the word to ring through his mind, filling and subduing it. _Ineffable, ineffable, ineffable, ineff — what the hell?_

A hole had opened in the ceiling, and a dark figure dropped in amidst buckets of rainfall.

Aziraphale sat frozen for a moment, too startled to do more than stare as the Enemy shook out his wide wings, spraying water everywhere. Those wily golden eyes began scanning the room, and locked onto Aziraphale's.

At last the angel rose, righteous wrath boiling in his stomach.

"A-Aziraphale!" the demon said. "Fancy meeting you here…How's it going?"

It was too bloody dark in here. Darkness was the demon's element; best to bring in some light…One thought later and a soft blue glow, emanating from nowhere and everywhere, suffused the scene.

"Get ye gone, serpent," Aziraphale proclaimed, allowing holy power to channel through him and magnify his voice. "Back from whence you came."

"L-look, angel," the demon stuttered out, clearly nervous (nervous? no, simply scheming fast), "'back from whence I came' is…well, you've sssseen what it's like out there. It's not a viable option."

"You are not welcome here," Aziraphale stated, ignoring the demon's twisting words. "This is a holy vessel, and your iniquity cannot be permitted to pervade it."

"Angel, can't we just… _forget_ about bloody _sssides_ for this trip?" The demon stepped forward, and a sword materialized in Aziraphale's hand (not his flaming sword of old, but it would do the job just the same).

"Whoa, hey!" his Adversary cried, throwing up his arms and stepping back. "Aziraphale, please, don't you realize what vantage you have over me right now? I am in no position to hurt you, and you…have complete power over me," Crawly admitted humbly. (Not _humbly_ , Aziraphale reminded himself, vexed: cunningly.) "I have nowhere to go. Either you will ssssmite me," the demon's eyes ran fearfully over the sword, "or you will…have mercy."

Aziraphale considered this. The demon was right, of course — there _was_ nowhere else he could turn. No safe place on Earth, not in this rapidly rising flood that would swallow even the tallest of mountains within the month.

He lowered his sword somewhat, and hope sprang into his Enemy's eyes, which gleamed eerily in the room's blue light; Aziraphale gripped his hilt harder.

"That's right, Angel," the demon wheedled, "don't you want to ssssee if you can convince me, a demon, of divine mercy?"

"I know your tricks, serpent," Aziraphale warned, but he returned his blade to its sheath. "You may stay — here, within this room. The humans must not find out about you; if they do, I shall force you out into the deluge."

Crawly's shoulders slumped, his wings drooping at his sides. "You mean I have to keep to this little cell, for…however long this lasts?" He regained his composure quickly. "Fair enough. Any other rules, oh just one?" If there was sarcasm in his question, Aziraphale could not detect it.

"Yes. I want you to compress your aura as best you can. No need to spread even a hint of your depravity through this vessel."

"Compress my aura?" the Adversary protested. "Do you know how hard that is to do for an hour, let alone—" Aziraphale's hand reached for his sword again, and the demon shut his mouth.

"These are good and righteous people," the angel insisted, "and I will not have you infecting them in any way."

"Fine," Crawly snapped, folding his arms.

"So you agree to my terms?"

"Yesss," the demon hissed. He smirked. "Shall we shake on it, or are you afraid my unholy aura will _infect_ you?"

"I'm not _afraid_ ," Aziraphale said, annoyed, and extended his hand before he could think it through.

The demon took the angel's proffered hand. Aziraphale was surprised to note that the palm pressing into his own was not slimy, or icy, or otherwise unpleasant. There was no jolt of pain, no crawling of his own skin as it connected with evil. It was…just a handshake.

They retracted their hands and remained standing silent for a moment, each eying the other warily as the rain drummed its incessant beat above.

"I must go speak to the humans," Aziraphale said at last. "We need to implement plans for caring for the animals and conserving food. You'll get none, of course," he added.

Crawly nodded acquiescence miserably. "No meals for the stowaway demon, got it."

"Stay here," the angel warned. "I will sense it if you don't, and my strike will come swift."

"Understood, your righteousness."

"Good."

Aziraphale turned to go, snuffing out the blue light he'd produced as he went, so that the demon was left in darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley fought the temptation to walk over to the doorway and stick his toe just _a tiny bit_ over the threshold, just to spite the angel. Better not to get on Aziraphale's bad side so early into the trip, he reminded himself — there was no telling how long they'd be stuck on this boat together, and he didn't much fancy being tossed to the waves.

His serpentine eyes quickly adjusted to the shadow that retook the room after the angel's departure, and he gave his surroundings a more thorough inspection. There wasn't much to see: some sacks and barrels piled up in one corner, a wooden chest, the chair Aziraphale had been sitting on, and a narrow, straw-stuffed mattress. If he wanted to be optimistic, he'd call the place cozy; if he wanted to be accurate, cramped.

To stifle the claustrophobia rising in his stomach, he sauntered over to the chest and lifted its lid. If he had to take a wild guess about what was inside…bingo. Stacks of clay tablets, etched with wedge-like glyphs. He knew that this new human invention was the angel's greatest weakness, so it was no surprise that Aziraphale had rescued some reading material from the flood.

Crowley took a moment to pity the sons or grandsons of Noah who had been tasked with lugging this heavy chest on board.

This finding was hardly useful to the demon — he had begun to learn how to read quite some time back, when writing had first been invented in Sumer, but humans would not stop messing with the symbols, and they changed too quickly for him to keep up with. Thus, he could make out some words here and there on the tablets, but not enough to provide him with any real entertainment. What the hell was he supposed to _do_ cooped up in here for who knew how long?

Well, he knew what he would do for now, at least. Supernatural being or no, his back was killing him — that flight had been the most arduous of his lives. Plus, he still felt somewhat nauseous as he adjusted to being around holy objects again. Retracting his wings, which were simply too big for these cramped quarters, he threw himself onto the mattress in the corner, tugged a blanket up over his head, and promptly fell asleep.

He awoke to his forearms burning.

Eyes snapping open, heart racing, he took in the plump, blue-glowing hands gripping his arms just in time to be dumped onto the floor.

"You dare occupy the bed of a Servant of God, demon?" Aziraphale's voice rang with heavenly wrath. The angel's form was haloed in blue light, which Crowley thought was a bit much, personally.

"I was tired, and you weren't using it," Crowley responded coolly. He rubbed at his wrists, which were slightly singed by their contact with heavenly essence. "Do you even sleep?"

Bafflement crossed Aziraphale's face, then a scowl came and camped there. He did not seem to appreciate the demon's blasé response, but Crowley had decided he would not allow his counterpart to intimidate him.

"Brazen creature," Aziraphale glowered, but it was more like a pout. The blue halo flickered out.

"Look, if we're going to do this, you're going to have to lay off the divine fury, okay?" Crowley said. "I've already given you my word—"

"Ah, yes, the word of a demon," Aziraphale snapped; "how _very_ trustworthy." Crowley paused for an instant to marvel at the fact that the angel had just used sarcasm, then blazed on as if he hadn't heard the interruption.

"—my _word_ that I'm not going to interfere with the humans, but you can't expect me to stand in a corner and do literally _nothing_ for the duration of the flood _._ If you're going to keep me stuck in here, at least let me have free rein of the room."

Aziraphale considered this. "Fine," he conceded. "You can have the bed. You're right, I don't sleep — virtue _never_ sleeps." This last sentence sounded like a warning.

"Noted," Crowley said, and then asked the question he'd been dreading hearing the answer to: "Do you…have you been filled in on how long this flood is going to last, exactly?" _Is it ever going to end?_ a voice in his head added, but he refused to consider that possibility.

"No — er, I mean, that's not for _you_ to know," the angel replied. "I can say it is going to be some time, by human standards — but not so long for us."

So the angel wasn't receiving much more information from his superiors than Crowley was from his. That was something, at least. "So, it _is_ going to end at some point, at least."

"Yes."

Crowley released his breath. "Good."

* * *

A handful of days crawled by, which Crowley ticked off on the wood wall with a nail (a human would quickly have lost track of day and night within the closed capsule of the ark, but as a supernatural being, he could sense the rising and setting of the sun). He spent most of the long hours sleeping fitfully, unaccustomed to the tossing of the waves far below him and unable to fully stifle the ever-creeping claustrophobia. Aziraphale was out of the room most of the time, off with the humans or taking care of the animals or reading in some nook that wasn't occupied by a demon, Crowley supposed. This frequent absence was for the best: whenever the angel dropped by, he always seemed to find _something_ to quarrel about.

"What do you think you're doing?" Crowley jumped at the sudden voice, almost dropping the tablet in his hands. "Those are valuable, I don't want you handling them."

"If you don't want them broken, don't startle the guy holding them," Crowley suggested, annoyed. "I don't see what the problem is — is reading a _virtue_ or something?"

"Just put it back."

"You promised me free rein of the room, angel. Are _you_ going to go back on _your_ word?"

Crowley watched with no small amusement as a vein ticked in Aziraphale's forehead. " _Fine._ But if you so much as chip one, I shall — "

"I know, I know, throw me out into the flood. That threat is getting old, Aziraphale."

Crowley regretted his flippant words as soon as they'd escaped his mouth: the angel's face became hard as stone.

"Do you take my threats lightly, serpent?" Aziraphale demanded, closing the distance between them with several strides. Crowley stood up quickly from where he knelt before the chest, not wanting to have the lower ground if this was about to develop into a battle.

"Of coursssse not," he assured his counterpart, "I know you mean it, Aziraphale — I jussst — hey!" The angel had lifted his arm to strike. Crowley instinctively raised his hands, still clutching the tablet, to defend his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the blow.

When he opened them again, Aziraphale had dropped his arm to his side.

"I have been uncivil," he said, looking aghast at the tablet he'd almost struck; "forgive me."

"A demon, forgive an angel?" Crowley blurted before he could think to keep his mouth shut.

"It is merely a turn of phrase," came the icy reply.

"Right," Crowley agreed quickly. He wracked his brains for a way to diffuse the situation. "Hey, you…you can read pretty well, can't you?"

Aziraphale gazed at him coldly.

"Silly question, obviously — what I meant was, since we're stuck here for a while…if you wanted to teach me a bit, I'd be game."

Aziraphale continued to stare at the demon, but with an expression Crowley could not read.

"Only if you want to, of course — I mean, I doubt you _want_ to," he corrected himself, "but — if you get really bored, maybe."

At long last, the angel answered. "Perhaps."

Crowley let out a long breath. "Cool. Great. So…how are the humans doing?"

Later, after Aziraphale had left again, Crowley sat cross-legged on the mattress, picking at the straw.

He toppled backwards as a muted red glow filled the room, accompanied by the buzzing of flies.

" _CROWLEY."_ Beelzebub's voice emanated from everywhere and nowhere.

"My lord!" Crowley responded, "what a…pleasure."

" _I'M SURE."_

"Could you maybe…keep your voice down? Lord?" Surely the whole ark could hear this booming voice — all he needed was Aziraphale to come running.

" _I WILL CHOOSE TO IGNORE THAT, CROWLEY. ANYWAY. WE HAVE BEEN SURPRISED TO NOTE THAT YOU HAVE NOT REAPPEARED IN HELL YET. WE THOUGHT FOR SURE YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN DISCORPORATED BY NOW…ARE HUMAN FORMS LESS VULNERABLE TO WATER THAN YOU HAVE LED US TO BELIEVE?"_

So the bastards knew about the flood, and hadn't thought to warn him, or check up on him, or something. Not that he really _wanted_ them checking up on him, ever, but still.

"I'm on an ark, my lord." A pause. "That's a big boat."

" _AH. WITH THE LAST OF THE HUMANS, I TAKE IT?"_

"Yes." And an angel, but he wasn't about to mention that. They'd order him to kill Aziraphale if they knew.

" _EXCELLENT. THIS CAN WORK TO OUR ADVANTAGE QUITE NICELY."_

"Er…how do you mean?" Crowley did not like where this conversation was going. He rarely did, when Beelzebub's disembodied voice dropped by for a chat.

" _THINK, CROWLEY. THE LAST OF THE HUMANS, SAVED FOR THEIR PIETY — IF YOU CAN CORRUPT THEM, IT WILL BE A HARD BLOW FOR HEAVEN…AND A FINE COMMENDATION FOR YOU."_

He'd figured that the Prince of Hell would say something like that. "Yes, my Lord. Except…"

" _EXCEPT WHAT, CROWLEY?"_ The displeasure that buzzed through Beelzebub's voice was unmistakable.

"Except nothing, my lord, nothing!" Crowley scrambled. "It just may take a while — Noah being such a pious man, and all. But don't worry, I'll get it done."

" _SEE THAT YOU DO, CROWLEY. I'LL LEAVE YOU TO IMAGINE THE CONSEQUENCES OF FAILURE."_

The red glow faded, leaving Crowley alone again. He was, indeed, imagining what Hell would do to him if he failed to corrupt Noah and his family.

But he was also imagining what Aziraphale would do to him if he succeeded.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: This chapter includes some unsanitary elements (bordering on less-than-classy bathroom humor), of the kind you'd expect on a boat full of animals going about their, ahem, business. If such things make you uncomfortable, I recommend skipping over this chapter - it won't throw you off the plot too much.

" _What did you do?"_

Crawly, sprawling across the bed (if he were one of those devils that represented the Vices, he would be sloth for sure, Aziraphale thought), cracked open one golden eye to observe the angel standing disheveled and half crazed in the doorway.

"You're going to have to be more specific. As you can see" — here he gestured to the mattress beneath him — "I do _so much_ these days."

" _The elephants._ "

Crawly looked dramatically around the small space from where he lay. "That's funny, _I_ don't see any elephants," he drawled, smooth as olive oil; "and if they're not in here, I can't have done anything to them, right? You have me on lockdown, if you recall."

Aziraphale was getting more and more fed up with the demon's mouth as the days stretched by. "Don't make me spell it out for you," he said through gritted teeth.

In one lithe movement, the demon sat up and settled himself into a more dignified position, his back straight and one long leg crossed elegantly over the other. He placed one dark, slender-fingered hand under his sharp chin, offering Aziraphale the full impact of his hypnotic, golden gaze.

"Well, if the horrendous stench you've brought back with you is any indicator," he remarked, "I take it some of the larger animals on this ark are experiencing gastrointestinal troubles."

Aziraphale choked back a scream, coupled with the urge to reach out and throttle a certain neck. "Yes," he said at last, speaking in the strained way of one on the edge of losing all control, "they are. The _elephants,_ Crawly. And _you_ caused it. I don't know what you fed them, or _why_ — whether it was to spread disease, or promote bad feeling among the humans, or simply to drive me slowly mad — but I know it was you. You can't," here he shook a finger at the demon, who remained infuriatingly serene, "fool _me_ , you nasty serpent." A note of hysteria crept into Aziraphale's voice. "Do you know how unpleasant shoveling mountains of pachyderm diarrheais?"

"I have no idea," Crawly said politely. He looked thoughtful a moment. "What do you _do_ with all the shit, anyway? There's got to be a lot of it on this floating menagerie."

"We use the smaller patties as fuel for fire, and there's one hatch on the ark that we open to toss the rest out of," Aziraphale said, sinking down into his chair and putting his face in his hands. "There's just…so _much_ of it."

"Well, I'd help but, you know, lockdown," Crawly replied.

"Thank you _so much_ ," Aziraphale snapped. _Wait_ … Slowly, he raised his head to look at the demon. "You know what? You _are_ going to help. Tonight. When the humans are asleep."

"What?" Crawly gasped, a look of horror crossing his face. "Er, no, I mean, I really think I should stay in here — "

"Oh, you are helping," the angel insisted. "You caused this mess to get even messier, and you are going to clean it up." He could just see the demon shoveling through tons of elephant dung now; a smile widened his lips. He was going to enjoy this.

"Again, I have to protest," Crawly spoke up immediately when Aziraphale returned to the room that night. "I gave you my word that I wouldn't step foot out of this room, and I intend to keep — "

"Stop the nonsense," Aziraphale said briskly, approaching the demon, "I _know_ you've already been out, to put something in the elephants' feed."

He grabbed the demon's wrist and pulled. The vexing creature sat like a stone, however, refusing to budge from the bed.

"Come — along — _now_ ," Aziraphale grunted, putting his back — and his angelic will — into it.

At last the demon's will gave out against the angel's. As Aziraphale gripped both of Crawly's arms and tugged with all his might, the demon's body suddenly flung forward from the mattress — and right into Aziraphale.

They collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"Grr- _off_!" the angel commanded, struggling under the weight of the demon on top of him. Crawly obliged, stepping lithely away from the tangle of limbs.

"All _right_ , I'll come with you," he sighed, brushing himself off, "if the alternative is another tug-of-war."

They made their way from the upper level of the ark into its bowels, Crawly complaining loudly every step of the way. Aziraphale was glad he'd had the foresight to cast a deep sleep on Noah's family. He would _not_ have the demon meddling in human affairs, not on _his_ ship.

"So," said demon was asking, "you got any plants on this thing? Sprouts? Saplings? Seeds?"

"Hmm? No, no, just animals."

"Great. I'm so glad your people's 'ineffable plan' accounted for a world full of smelly animals _and no surviving flora_."

"Oh!" Aziraphale said, getting the demon's point. He thought about this a long minute. "I'm…I'm sure that the plants will be fine," he said at last. "Just a little…wet."

Crawly stopped short. "Angel, you amaze me," he said flatly.

They continued on their way in silence. A hint of a nostril-singeing stench gradually invaded the air around them.

"Well," the demon spoke again, "at least the plants should have plenty of fertilizer while they're _drowning_ , what with all the manure you're tossing overboard for them."

"I would appreciate it," Aziraphale snapped, "if you would stop mocking the Ineffable. The plants will be fine."

The increasingly unbearable fumes alerted them that they were nearing their destination. The one good outcome of this fact was that Crawly shut up at last — an ethereal, or in the demon's case occult, being need only breathe to speak, and neither of them wanted to risk inhaling this stink.

They arrived at the elephants' pen, a stable-like construction that, admittedly, would do little to keep the gargantuan creatures penned in if not for divine intervention — every animal on board was unnaturally docile, so that the cages and dividers were more a precaution for the humans' peace of mind than a necessity.

The elephants were restless, tossing their mighty heads and tossing their trunks about. Aziraphale did not blame them: they were as much victim to the stench rising from the fuming piles of shit beside them as the other animals in their vicinity.

Aziraphale had grown accustomed to the human need to breathe, and remembering to hold his breath was a struggle. Afraid to tarry long, he pushed a shovel into Crawly's hands, pointed to the hatch that opened out into the flood — luckily they had placed the elephants right beside this opening, alongside other large creatures whose feces were too heavy to shovel very far — and made to leave. He had been looking forward to watching the demon struggle with the mountain of crap, but it was hardly worth it in these conditions.

As he turned to go, however, Crawly grabbed his arm, a pleading look bidding him not to go. He pointed to the other nearby shovel. _Don't be ridiculous, like I'm going to help._

Aziraphale braced himself and took in a strained breath, just enough to get a quick sentence out. Even the one breath was enough to nearly knock him out — if smells could kill, he'd have been discorporated on the spot.

"Get-to-work-I'll-be-back-later" he managed to get out, then fled from the space to go find some fresh air — well, relatively fresh: the entire ark, closed in as it was, was beginning to acquire a stale atmosphere.

Aziraphale stayed far away for a good four hours, taking inventory of several of the ark's large storage chambers in his efforts to calculate how long the supplies would last — Heaven hadn't seen fit to share an exact timeframe with him, just a _Get that ark good and full, the humans will be on there quite a while_. At last, though, he had to go back to see how the demon was faring.

He approached the elephant pen to find Crawly not shoveling, but leaning into the elephant's hay, humming softly to himself, a self-satisfied smile on his lips. The pen was spotless, the smell miraculously ( _diabolically_ , he corrected himself) gone.

"You willed it all away, didn't you."

Crawly looked up at the angel. "It pains me to be accused of such a thing," he said; "I nearly broke my back shoveling all of that glop."

"Then why is the shovel clean?" Aziraphale pointed out.

Crawly glanced at the tool he'd left lying near the hatch. "Well, you've got me there," he said, grinning wickedly. "I plead guilty."

Aziraphale sighed. Perhaps it wasn't particularly angelic of him, but he'd enjoyed imagining the demon struggling to haul every shovelful of excrement up and out of the ark. "At least it's all cleaned up," he said.

"I don't see why you didn't just miracle it all away yourself," Crawly remarked as he stood up.

"It sets a poor example for the humans," Aziraphale explained; "I must lead them towards hard work, not sloth. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Angel, I truly don't," Crowley said sincerely. "Now, are you here to drag me back to my cell immediately, or can I look around a bit?"

"I'm sure you've already looked around while I was away."

"Doesn't mean I couldn't stand to explore some more," the demon grinned. "Come on, just till the humans wake up. Tell me what some of these weird animals are. Like, what the devil — pardon my language — is _that_?"

"A komodo dragon. You've not been that far east yet?"

"I thought I'd been as east as you can get, but you know how difficult it is, scoping out every nook and cranny of the world. You always miss something."

"Indeed," Aziraphale agreed. "Come this way, I bet you haven't seen a capybara yet."


	5. Chapter 5

It had not been his classiest stunt, certainly, but there was only so much havoc Crowley could wreak when he couldn't directly interfere with humans, on pain of death. If only it hadn't backfired so horrendously — that stench would be etched into his nostrils for the next month. His current misdeed was not much more sophisticated, but again, there was only so much he could do in these circumstances.

Not long after Cain was banished into the wilderness some thousand years ago, petty theft introduced itself to the world. Greed was a disease soon born out of jealousy and resentment, the vices that had gotten that first convict into so much trouble. Crowley had taken it upon himself, as part of his demonic duty, to encourage stealing wherever he could: there wasn't much that got humans more riled up than realizing someone had snatched their favorite stuff.

He assumed that even Earth's most pious family would not be immune to the rage and false accusations that thievery tended to bring about.

Thus Crowley found himself in the quarters of one of Noah's sons — he wasn't sure which one, but whoever it was, he _and_ his wife were both _snorers_ — trying not to make any noise as he rooted around in a large chest.

He needed something worth taking… _Aha!_ Nestled in among the extra robes and tunics, his fingers grasped the smooth, slender stem of a wooden flute.

So this was the music maker whose songs Crowley often heard as he lay listlessly in his stuffy little room. He felt a pang of regret with the knowledge that, if he took this thing, that scrap of entertainment among hours of monotony would be lost. Perhaps he should find something else to — wait! what was that?

One of the children, piled together in a heap of blankets on the floor near their parents' bed, was stirring. Flute in hand, Crowley slithered from the room.

He followed the narrow corridor until it led him to another son's quarters. In he slipped to deposit his plunder — he did not tarry, opening this room's chest and shoving the flute down among the clothes within, then quickly making his exit.

As he stepped out of the room, however, the floor beneath him rolled: the ark must have hit a particularly big wave. He stumbled, landing on the ground with a thud.

"Ham! Did you hear that?"

"Mphm," a groan and a yawn, "it was just the waves, dear."

"No I…I think something's out there. Go check."

"What could possibly be out there? We're on an ark."

"Full of _wild animals_ , Ham." A commanding tone. "Go check."

"Is there a aminal out there, Daddy?" a child's fearful voice asked.

"No, Canaan. Go back to sleep." A flame was struck, light flaring into the corridor. Crowley scrambled to his feet.

Footsteps — no time to flee, the corridor was too long…

"Now how did you get out of your cage?"

A sturdy man with a graying beard bent down to scoop up the snake that was attempting to slither away. Crowley hissed in frustration.

"Ham," called the voice from within the room, "what's out there?"

"Just a snake," he called back, "one of the harmless kinds, I think. I'm taking it back to its cage; you go back to sleep, dear.

"Stop that squirming now," Ham said calmly, stepping back into his room to grab a cloth bag from a hook; he dropped the indignant demon inside and pulled the drawstring tight.

Hissing furiously, Crowley writhed inside the confines of the bag. Who did this human think he was? "None of that now," the man said, "I'm just trying to return you to your mate."

Ham walked in silence for a while, heading to wherever the snakes were kept, Crowley assumed. It was dark inside the bag, though he could make out the glow of the human's flame through the fabric. _Nice going, Crowley,_ he thought crossly to himself. _You've gotten yourself in a real pickle, haven't you._

"Not sure why God wanted us to save you anyway," Ham remarked thoughtfully, his voice coming muffled to the slits of Crowley's serpentine ears through the sack. "Your kind caused quite a lot of misfortune for some of my ancestors, so I'm told."

If snakes could roll their eyes, Crowley would have. It wasn't as if humans didn't get into plenty of mischief on their own — but no, of course, blame the creature _with_ _no arms_ for all the suffering of the world.

"But I guess," the human was continuing, "you shouldn't be held accountable for the actions of snakes past, right? I mean, I wouldn't want someone to blame _me_ for the stunts _my_ ancestors have pulled. May-God-grant-their-bones-rest," he added hurriedly.

At least this human seemed wiser than most, Crowley thought. But that didn't make this predicament any better — how was he going to get out of it? When Ham reached the snake's cages, he would see that each species was already paired up, not a single serpent missing. And what would he do then?

Time for some infernal intervention.

" _Pssssssssst_ ," Crowley hissed from within the sack, "human."

There was the uncomfortable swoop in his midriff of being dropped, the thud of hitting the floor.

Ham picked the bag back up. "Did you just…"

"Yessss," Crowley said, fighting to keep the annoyance from his voice. "I can talk. And I like what you were ssssaying, about me not meriting the blame for my ancessstor."

"But if you can talk…" Ham said slowly, his lips close to the bag, "how do I know you're any better than that snake was?"

"Only one way to find out," Crowley suggested. Silence from outside the fabric. "You have to _open the bag_ ," he prompted.

"Only if you promise not to do anything evil," the human said.

"I promisssse."

Fumbling fingers loosened the drawstring. Foolish human. Crowley stuck his head out the opening and breathed in gratefully.

"Much better," he said. "Now," he looked straight into the human's eyes, summoning his demonic power, "you will put me down. You will return to your wife, and go to ssssleep, and in the morning, you will have forgotten all of thissss."

Obediently, Ham lowered the bag to the floor, and Crowley slithered out. "G'night," the human offered sleepily, and started his walk back to bed.

A flash of guilt flared up in Crowley's stomach — this human had been kind to him, all things considered; it was a pity that he'd soon be framed for theft…ah well, a job was a job. Now if some duke of Hell barged in demanding a report, Crowley could say he'd made an effort, at least.

And now it was time for the demon to return to bed as well. He glided along the corridor, keeping his currently-non-existent fingers crossed that he wouldn't run into any more humans on his way.

* * *

The next day crawled by with all the speed of those strange creatures with the moss on their backs — _sloths,_ Aziraphale had called them ("look, Crawly, you and these lazy critters would get along splendidly!").

Crowley turned his head to eye the tallies he'd carved into the wall beside the bed. Thirty days now — a full month. How much longer could this rain go on?

His keen ears picked up approaching footsteps and he sat up eagerly.

"Ach, keeping those humans civil is getting more and more difficult," Aziraphale complained as soon as he entered, sinking into his usual seat. He offered Crowley a sharp glance. "Are you _sure_ you're keeping your infernal aura as clamped down as you can?"

Crowley nodded vigorously — not that he was actually doing anything to reduce his aura, but if the angel couldn't tell, he wasn't about to admit that. "They're humans, Aziraphale, they're going to bicker all on their own," Crowley said. "Especially in such close quarters."

"Yes, yes, I suppose you're right," Aziraphale sighed, massaging his temples. "Still, these are meant to be the cream of the crop…and now Shem is running around claiming there's a thief on board," he said despairingly. "I _told_ them, 'listen, trying to wipe out all the bad humans just isn't going to work, even the good ones find ways to get into trouble,' but do they _listen_ to a principality like me? of course no—" The angel seemed to realize what he was saying, and the interest on the face of the demon listening, and stiffened. "Why am I even talking to _you_ , serpent?"

And Aziraphale was back to calling him "serpent," wonderful — he'd been doing so well, too. Crowley did his best to keep his tone light when he replied, hoping to calm Aziraphale down. "Because you're bored, I'm bored, and," he ticked off on his fingers, "we're both stuck on a boat that reeks of animal shit, trying our best not to think of how the entire damned _world_ is drowning outside." So much for light.

"I would thank you," the angel said icily, "to keep expletives out of the conversation." He mulled over what the demon had said. "And what do _you_ care that the world is flooded? You should be _gleeful_ , thinking of all the suffering going on out there, and how many souls have been sent straight down to…your place."

Crowley attempted a laugh, but it came out weak and humorless. "Yeah, it's a real victory," he said bitterly. He turned his head towards the wall, letting his long hair fall in a curtain between him and his counterpart. _Ssstupid angel. He knows_ nothing _of what I feel._

Aziraphale was silent a moment. The drumming of the rain filled the room — was it louder than usual? Surely the storm couldn't be _picking up_ , when it was already so fierce? "I must say, Crawly, I simply do not understand you —"

"Well maybe it would _help_ ," Crowley snapped, "if you would call me by the right bloody name."

"I — what?"

"It's _Crowley_ , Aziraphale." He continued to glare at his tallies on the wall, not looking at the angel. "Not Crawly, it hasn't _been_ Crawly since the garden. Crowley. I've only told you a hundred times."

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, turning the name over in his mouth. "Hmm. You know, that really does suit you."

The demon turned back to face his counterpart, surprised. "I'm glad you think so."

"Well, _Crowley_ ," Aziraphale said carefully. "I was thinking over your earlier request, that I teach you to read. I suppose as long as we're stuck in here, there would be no harm in it…What do you say we start tonight?"

Crowley allowed a smile to break over his face. "That would be great, angel," he said, and he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to include a note explaining a couple things about my writing choices for this fic. To begin with, you might notice that some of the phrases use in here, especially by Crowley, are a little too modern to have fit into the days of Noah's Ark. (In this chapter, for instance, he even uses "in a pickle.") However, since I don't know many of the idioms of that age and I'm writing in English, not ancient Hebrew or whatever language was supposed to be spoken pre-Babel, I figure it makes more sense to just use our modern lingo. I give Crowley more casual language, while Aziraphale tends to speak more formally.
> 
> And with the mention of pre-Babel: keeping this fic "historically accurate" is quite a struggle since I am writing about one of the mythical tales of early Genesis and because Good Omens follows the Biblical timeline (that earth is only 6000 years old or so, rather than a good 4.5 billion years). When I mention the writing on the tablets, for instance, and Crowley notes that writing was invented in Sumer: in "real" history, cuneiform was invented as far back as 8000 BC, but according to the Bible and Good Omens 8000 BC doesn't even exist. And the mighty flood of Noah's Ark, as far as scholars can judge it, would have occurred around 2500 BC. So keeping things "accurate" is a challenge -- in the spirit of Good Omens and given the content of this work, I'm mainly following what the Bible's timeline says even when inserting historical facts about writing and the like. (The fact that Sumerian tablets are on a Hebrew ark is, biblically, unlikely, since the stories of Genesis were passed on orally for ages before they were written down. But since we've got a bibliophilic and well-traveled angel on board, I thought the tablets would make sense.)
> 
> On wiki I found some cool stuff about dates; based on the biblical timeline, the great flood occurred some 1300 years after Eden. So at the point of this fic we can say Az and Crow have been on Earth for a little over one millennium. Also note that according to Genesis, Noah is 600 years old at this point; he had his sons when he was around 500, so Ham in this chapter is probably 100. I guess he's in pretty great shape for a 100-year-old.
> 
> What I'm trying to say with all of this rambling is that if you're looking for a fic with perfect historical or biblical authenticity, this isn't it. But I hope you're enjoying the story anyhow.


	6. Chapter 6

"Damn, Aziraphale, you made them lug all of this on board? I'm surprised this boat can still float."

"Humph. _They_ didn't complain."

"Well they wouldn't, not to you — you're an angel."

"That never seems to stop _you_."

The two beings stood in the entrance to one of the ark's middle-sized chambers, which Aziraphale illuminated with an ethereal blue glow. Clay tablets lined its walls, stacked one on top of the other and secured with twine to keep them from shifting about on the waves.

Aziraphale watched as the demon entered the room and studied the tablets at the top of each stack, running his slim fingers over the etched symbols.

"Yeah, I can make out a few words here and there," Crowley announced, "but not much."

"Well, that's what I'm here for," Aziraphale said. Once he'd made the decision to help the demon learn to read, he'd swung into full teaching mode. "Now, let's pick a good one…" He wandered around the room, glancing over the clay slabs until he alighted on one he had yet to read. Most of the tablets were accounts of genealogies, finances, and court life — but he preferred the stories.

"Ah, this one looks interesting. It's one of the Gilgamesh tablets — I've read several of them, they're wonderful things. But pagan," he added, "so take care not to fall for any of the lies they tell."

"Aziraphale. I am literally a demon."

"Ah," the angel said, remembering whom he was speaking to, "of course."

If only Noah's sons hadn't gotten all the tablets out of order when they'd brought them aboard, they could start with one of the earlier of the Gilgamesh tablets. As it was, this one would do. Together, they lifted the thick slab and brought it to the low table nailed to the floor in the center of the room. They sat down cross-legged before it, a healthy inch between them to keep their knees from touching.

"So…I suppose I'll read each line, and point to the glyphs as I say them," Aziraphale said. "Does that sound like the best way to do this?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Crowley agreed, "since I already know the basics of how this works — I just need to learn the new symbols."

"All right." Aziraphale cleared his throat, feeling, for some reason, self-conscious. "Here I go. Er, 'Gilgamesh spoke to Utanapishtim, the Faraway — "

"Hang on, who's this Gilgamesh?" the demon broke in. "I've never heard of him. And what kind of name is Utanapissin?"

"Utanapishtim," Aziraphale corrected. "Gilgamesh is a great hero of the Babylonians — pagan, as I warned you, and this Faraway fellow, well…I'm not sure," he admitted. "We're beginning some ways into the story."

"If I don't even know who these blokes are," Crowley complained, "why the hell should I care about their stor — "

"Do you want me to teach you or not?" Aziraphale bristled.

"Okay, fine." Crowley crossed his arms. "Read away, oh brilliant teacher."

" 'Gilgamesh spoke to Utanapishtim, the Faraway: / 'I have been looking at you, / but your appearance is not strange — you are like me!'..." As Aziraphale read, he pointed to the words beneath his fingertips, pausing frequently to explain a grammatical point or to try to decipher a symbol he did not recognize himself. Despite his initial outburst, Crowley proved a decent pupil, leaning in to study the glyphs and keeping quiet except to ask questions.

As they read, the story became surprisingly familiar.

" 'The hearts of the Great Gods moved them to inflict the Flood," Aziraphale read, pausing an instant. And a few lines later,

"O man of Shuruppak, son of Ubartutu:  
Tear down the house and build a boat!  
Abandon wealth and seek living beings!  
Spurn possessions and keep alive living beings!  
Make all living beings go up into the boat.  
The boat which you are to build,  
its dimensions must measure equal to each other:  
its length must correspond to its width."

"Sounds like this Utanapishtim is in the same boat we are," Crowley commented. "More gods involved, but…this could be Noah."

"Indeed," Aziraphale mused, scratching his head. "Perhaps whoever wrote this down was a prophet?"

There were plenty of discrepancies, however. When one line proclaimed that "The boat was finished by sunset," Crowley startled Aziraphale with a short laugh.

"Ha! By sunset? Looks like Noah lost that race — how long was he building his ark? A few years?"

Aziraphale ignored the outcry. "Do you want to try reading?" he asked.

"Er…maybe next tablet," Crowley said.

Aziraphale read on. As the storm swept over the earth with Utanapishtim safe inside his boat, various gods grieved. Aziraphale read aloud the lamentation of Ishtar, his voice growing weak as he spoke:

" 'No sooner have I given birth to my dear people  
than they fill the sea like so many fish!'  
The gods — those of the Anunnaki — were weeping with her,  
the gods humbly sat weeping, sobbing — "

the angel's voice broke for a moment, then he continued —

"sobbing with grief,  
their lips burning, parched with thirst."

He fell silent, his fingertip hovering over the line he'd stopped at. Neither he nor the demon spoke for a long moment.

"I know," Crowley said at last.

How could a demon _know_ , Aziraphale thought angrily — know what it was to carry out commands that helped set the world awash, wondering all the while whether the One you served even _cared_ about all the humans He was submerging…why it had to be this way anyhow…

He remembered Crowley's bitterness earlier, when he'd mentioned those drowning outside the ark. He realized Crowley had been here, on Earth, as long as he had, had likely grown attached to this funny little planet even as Aziraphale had. Perhaps the demon _did_ understand, to some extent.

"Yes, well," Aziraphale said, "let's continue, anyhow."

According to this epic, the flood lasted "Six days and seven nights." They shared a laugh at that.

"We're at, what, thirty days now?" Aziraphale said. "Perhaps this writer is not much of a prophet after all."

At last the angel came to the last line on the tablet, which did not offer a very satisfying conclusion.

"I'll try to find the next installment, if there is one," Aziraphale said, looking around at the stacks of tablets. "For now, let's go through this tablet again — but with you reading, this time."

To keep the demon from reciting from memory, Aziraphale pointed to random lines and had Crowley read them aloud. He did well, retaining perhaps half of the glyphs' meanings.

After a while of this, Aziraphale clapped his hands together. "I consider that a successful first lesson, don't you?"

"Yeah. Thanks, angel."

* * *

 

A week passed. The rain drummed on against the ark's roof, the humans became increasingly restless, and every night found an angel and a demon huddled over one tablet or another.

Aziraphale started avoiding the humans and spending more time with Crowley, with the animals, or organizing the storerooms — Noah's sons were quarreling over even the smallest things at this point. Shem continued to hint that _someone_ had stolen his flute; it never turned up, but his frequent allusions to it kept the atmosphere tense.

On the fortieth night of their sailing, something happened.

Walking back to their quarters from the tablet room, Crowley stopped suddenly.

"Az, do you…do you _hear_ that?" The demon's voice was full of awe.

"Hear what?" Aziraphale strained his ears. "I don't hear a thing."

"Exactly!" the demon cried, jumping into the air. "There's _nothing_ ," he cried gleefully. "Not a sound!"

"Are you all righ — " Aziraphale started to ask, and then it clicked. He began to jump up and down too, laughing. "No rain!" he cried.

"No bloody rain!" Crowley agreed, slapping the angel's shoulder.

They raced back to their quarters, and Crowley leapt onto the bed. Placing his hand on the ceiling, he willed a hole to open as Aziraphale watched, bouncing up and down.

Crowley pulled himself up through the opening, and reached an arm back down. Aziraphale accepted the proffered hand, allowing himself to be pulled up into the open air that was, miraculously, clear.

Aziraphale threw his head back and stared at the sky, which was free of clouds and blazing with stars. His companion also threw his head back, opening his mouth and releasing a mighty shout that echoed across the firmament. The waves below rang with their mirth as they laughed and yelled and danced about, clinging to each other to keep from slipping off the roof.

"Stand back," the demon suddenly exclaimed, and Aziraphale stepped back just in time to avoid being knocked over by the pair of dark wings that sprang from Crowley's shoulders. Bending his knees, the demon launched himself heavenward.

Aziraphale watched, mesmerized, as each powerful downbeat of wings set the demon's glossy plumes aglitter in the starlight.

"Join me, Az!" Crowley beckoned, golden eyes flashing.

Aziraphale didn't need to be asked twice. He unfurled his wings, a shade or two lighter than the demon's and not quite as sleek, and catapulted into the night sky.

Crowley nosedived towards the water, pulling himself up at the last second and skimming his fingers along the sea's surface.

"Isn't it beautiful, angel?" he called to Aziraphale, who hovered above.

"It is," the angel answered, watching the starlight ripple along his companion's lustrous black hair, the inky feathers of his shoulder blades. It really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley mentions that Noah's construction of the ark took "a few years." Based on Biblical analysis, the building of the ark seems actually to have taken anywhere from 20 to 120 years. (Seeing as Noah was 500-600 at the time and not dying any time soon, he could afford to take that long.)
> 
> The portion of the Epic of Gilgamesh that they read is Tablet XI, which can be found here if anyone's interested: http://www.ancienttexts.org/library/mesopotamian/gilgamesh/tab11.htm 
> 
> And now to confess to my great anachronism: as far as biblical scholars can judge, the Noah's Ark story is meant to have occurred somewhere from 2500-2300 BC (most likely closer to 2300BC). The earliest tablets of The Epic of Gilgamesh that we have recovered are from ~2100 BC — so they wouldn't have been around for Aziraphale to bring on the ark with him. But I wanted the epic in my story, so I took liberties — as I mentioned in the previous endnote, Good Omens uses the biblical timeline so historical dates are all screwed up anyhow.


	7. Chapter 7

"How long did Gilgamesh say it took for the floodwaters to dry up?"

"Seven days."

Crowley let out a long groan. "Somehow I think we'll be here longer than that."

Three days had passed since the storm had stopped, but the rejoicing that greeted this fact soon shifted into increasingly dipping morale for Noah's family. Food was going stale and the air was musty; meanwhile, Shem persisted in his hunt for his missing flute. Aziraphale wavered between spending more time with the humans in order to shed a calming essence over them, and avoiding them as much as possible.

Crowley and Aziraphale were currently perched on the gentle slope of the ark's roof, peering out over the sea-green water that stretched into the horizon. Crowley was right: it would be far more than seven days before all of this evaporated, even given the intensity of the rays the sun was extending over earth with unprecedented vigor.

As they sat quietly, straining their eyes to catch any hint of treetops or hillcrests among the flat expanse of waves, Aziraphale's ears pricked up at the sound of an enraged shout.

"Oh, dear," he sighed. "That would be Shem."

"Guess you have to check in on them," Crowley said without moving a muscle.

"I suppose I must," Aziraphale agreed, and descended down the hole they'd made in the roof, back into the stuffy atmosphere of the ark. Drat these humans. They needed so much supervision.

"Confess!" Shem was shouting. "I found it in _your_ quarters!"

"What were you doing going through my things anyhow?" Ham's voice. Aziraphale upped his pace, hurrying down the boat's narrow passages towards the chaos.

"Recovering my property, clearly!" Shem roared back; Aziraphale turned a corner and the two men entered his line of vision in time for him to see Shem towering over his younger brother, brandishing the flute in the air like a weapon.

"I told you, I didn't steal it." Ham was making an effort to keep his voice level, but his brow was taut with anger. "Why would I, brother? You know I can't play it."

"Because it's an heirloom!" Shem shouted. "Because you have always been jealous of my things, and of me!"

"I give you my word I did not take it," Ham insisted, hands clenched at his sides. "Do you doubt my word?"

"If not you, who then? …That brat of yours?"

One of Ham's fists twitched, as if itching to punch the man in front of him. "You dare accuse my _son_ of thievery?" he demanded, raising his voice at last.

"It was you or the boy, Ham. And I will have justice, I —"

"Ahem."

The two men whirled and caught sight at last of the angel observing their argument.

"My lord," Ham said quickly, approaching Aziraphale with deference and desperation in his eyes, "please, will you tell my brother I did him no wrong?"

"Master angel," Shem thundered from behind his brother, "tell _my_ brother that he will pay for his crime!"

"Silence, both of you!" Aziraphale commanded; and silence fell. He massaged his temples, and when he spoke again his voice was calm, soothing. "I knew two brothers, much like yourselves, back when the world was new. They were both good men, with a good father — but envy ate away at one brother's heart, and soon enough, he slayed the other."

"Good my lord," Shem interrupted, "we know of this tale alread —" Aziraphale held up one hand, and Shem's mouth closed.

"Brothers ought not quarrel; it goeth against God," he continued. "And when bitterness poisons a family, surely it cometh from an insidious source. A serpent winds through your midst, and just as that jealous brother was told long ago, I say to you: you must not let sin strike, but rather you must subdue it. Ham did not take your flute from you, Shem: an evil presence did. _So I will hear no more of this argument._ " He imbued his last statement with heavenly authority.

Shem did not look convinced, but after a final angry look at his brother, he nodded. "You will hear of it no more," he conceded, and withdrew from the chamber.

"Thank you, holy one," Ham said gratefully. He gave an awkward jerk of his waist, as if he was unsure whether or not to bow, and exited after his brother.

Aziraphale made his way out of the chamber as well. He found a few other humans standing just outside it, including Ham's boy, Canaan, and several women. They didn't say anything, merely lowered their heads in deference as he passed.

"Back so soon?" The demon looked over languidly as Aziraphale stuck his head through the opening in the roof and drew in a deep breath of sun-warmed air.

"The humans were upset, but it was nothing some angelic intervention couldn't solve," he replied matter-of-factly as he settled himself on the roof. "Shem found his missing flute in Ham's quarters," he added, watching the demon's face.

Crowley's expression gave nothing away. "Imagine that," was all he said, his eyes closed and his body relaxed.

"I told Shem to let it go," Aziraphale continued. "No need to blame other humans when there is _a serpent in our midst_."

Crowley's face twitched oddly, as if he were about to open his eyes but thought better of it. "Hmm. Typical heavenly nonsense metaphor." His voice was carefully casual, but his muscles had gone taut, ready to spring up and defend himself if necessary. "I suppose the humans ate it right up."

"Crowley." Aziraphale heaved a sigh. "I know it was you. But no matter — if that's the worst mischief you get up to on this voyage I suppose I should be glad."

The demon did not reply, but his body relaxed again.

Aziraphale looked out across the unbroken expanse of water, enjoying the wind that ruffled his dark curls. He had no idea when the earth would finally dry out, and Heaven did not seem forthcoming with any answers. But — he glanced over at the demon sprawled catlike in the sun, dark hair swirling in the breeze — part of him hoped it would be a while yet.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter.

"Az, I am _dying_ of _boredom_ here," Crowley whined from where he lay on the bed, head hanging over the edge so that he was looking at Aziraphale upside-down. "Can't I _please_ leave this room even when the humans are awake? I don't see why you can't just tell them I'm another angel dropping by to see how things are going," he reasoned.

"No," Aziraphale said simply, not looking up from the soft clay tablet he was etching glyphs into from his usual seat across the room.

It was the 150th day since the storm had stopped. 150 days of drifting aimlessly on smooth seas. Crowley had spent the majority of his time sleeping, taking short flights over the water — always keeping the ark in sight, of course — and reading with Aziraphale. They'd read through every single tablet on the ark by this point, even the ones recording nothing but grain sales.

"Angel, come _on_ ," Crowley wheedled, "I am _begging_ you here. How many times in the history of the world have you heard of a demon begging an angel? That's how desssperate I am." He mentally chided himself for the slip of his lisp at the end — reminding Aziraphale of his serpentine origins was never wise.

At last his counterpart looked up. "If I tell them that you are an angel," he explained, "they will expect you to worship with them. I take it that is something you would not find favorable."

"All right, all right," Crowley conceded. Worshiping was not something that appealed to him at all. "But I get the feeling you just want to hog the attention for yourself."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply, and flew headlong off his chair. Meanwhile, Crowley found himself flung from the bed.

The almighty _thud_ that had caused inertia to throw the two beings from their spots was followed by a great groaning and scraping of wood against stone: the ark had been beached.

Crowley sprang to his feet and helped the angel up. The two of them raced down the corridor, heading for the source of the ruckus, deep within the belly of the ark. Ahead of them, they saw members of Noah's family exiting doorways, likewise heading for the lower levels of the boat. Aziraphale stopped short, extending his arm to keep Crowley from running ahead.

"We can't let them see you," he said. "You'll have to wait back in the room."

"Seriously, angel?" Crowley protested. "I am _not_ waiting in that stuffy room when something new and different is finally happening."

"I _will not_ let them see you," Aziraphale warned, shifting into a more aggressive stance.

"Okay, okay," the demon backpedaled, "what if I…went as a snake?"

"A snake?"

"Yeah, here, I'll turn into a snake, and you can…hide me in your robes!" Before the angel could disagree, Crowley transformed. Suddenly only one man-shaped being occupied the corridor, accompanied by a small serpent looking up expectantly.

Aziraphale grumbled to himself, but he picked Crowley up and allowed him to slither into the sleeve of his robe.

"Just don't move around too much in there," Aziraphale griped; "I'm rather ticklish."

Off the angel dashed, a smirking snake in tow. They reached the vessel's lowermost chambers and Aziraphale raised his hand slightly so that Crowley could peer out through the cuff of his sleeve. As one, humans, angel, and serpent all gawked: much of the front of the wooden hull was ripped up, with solid rock piercing through.

"A mountain!" cried one of Noah's sons — Japheth, if Crowley was not mistaken. "We've hit a mountain!"

Crowley let out a hiss of delight, causing Aziraphale to fake a cough to cover up the noise. This was good news: at long last, at least _some_ land poked out from the endless expanse of floodwater.

"We best hope the rain doesn't start up again," Ham, who was nearest to Aziraphale and his serpentine stowaway, remarked. "The ark won't sail again with this damage…"

"The rain will _not_ start up again," Noah said from the other side of the chamber, giving his youngest son a reproving look. "The Lord will not command it, and so it will not be."

"Of course, Father," Ham said, lowering his head.

* * *

Besides the fact that the ark was now grounded rather than floating aimlessly like the world's largest piece of driftwood, not much changed after hitting the mountain. Only the tallest of peaks reached out from the water — the rest of the land remained submerged. Crowley added flying out every morning to check the water level to his daily routine; it, along with his tally marks, was the only way to keep track of change in the long, monotonous flat-line that life had become. Bit by bit, more mountain was exposed to dry air.

"This is worse than what I remember of Heaven," Crowley exclaimed one particularly tedious day, earning him a glare from Aziraphale.

As boredom sunk ever deeper into both of them, and they finished a _second_ read-through of all of the ark's tablets, they began to tell each other stories.

Later on, Crowley would not be able to recall which of them had told the first one. But soon, the two beings who had lived on this planet for over a thousand years — give or take a few discorporations — were filling the endless hours with recollections of their adventures on earth.

They'd each traveled far and wide, to every continent of the globe — including the ones that humans in this portion of the world didn't know existed — but they had each done so at different points, in different eras, and so they had plenty to fill each other in on.

Some of Aziraphale's favorite places were the ones that humans hadn't reached yet, while Crowley preferred the bustling cities gradually springing up across Earth. Some of their stories left them both breathless from laughter; others were somber or violent, deepening an ache in both of their hearts.

Sometimes the one telling the story would stop abruptly, and the other would know that he had just remembered that every person, every setting, every thing within the tale had been wiped out, and they would sit wordless for long stretches of time, mourning silently together.

When the day came to leave the ark at last, after month and months of waiting for the water to dry up, Crowley found he wasn't ready for it.

Crowley had his companion almost in tears over a humorous account involving a Trojan market vendor when suddenly a painfully bright light beamed down into the room.

"Aziraphale," an authoritative voice echoed out from the beam. The smile dropped from the angel's face, replaced by sheer horror.

" _Hide!_ " he mouthed at the demon, who didn't need to be told twice — quick as lightning, Crowley transformed into a snake and slithered into the crevice between the mattress and the wall.

"Aziraphale," the voice said again, sounding impatient.

"H-here I am, Gabriel!" the angel replied, standing.

"I bear good news," Gabriel's voice rang out, "for you to share with God's chosen people. The floodwaters have receded, and it is time for them to come out of the ark."

"That is good news," Aziraphale replied. "Thank you, Gabriel. I shall let them know."

The beam of light dematerialized, leaving angel and demon alone again.

Crowley slithered back out into the open and returned to his favorite form.

"Well," he said, brushing himself off, "that —"

"It is time for you to go, Crowley."

"Hmm?" Crowley said, still smoothing out his tunic — he never liked changing form; it always brought the risk of damaging his clothing.

"I said, it is time you flew far away from this place." This time the angel's message clicked. Crowley stared at Aziraphale, looking for a hint of — of what, exactly? Regret, sadness, _any_ sign that the angel would be sorry to see him go. But Aziraphale's face was devoid of expression.

"Right," Crowley said, keeping his tone blank. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

"I suppose it is," Aziraphale replied.

The demon stuck out his hand. Aziraphale hesitated, then took it.

"Take care of yourself, angel," Crowley said. Then he turned and, taking one last glance at his tally marks, the mattress, the wooden walls, he climbed up through the hole in the ceiling and onto the ark's roof. Extending his wings, and took off into the azure sky.

He did not hear Aziraphale's murmured response, uttered after he had left the ark far behind: "You too."

Crowley flew far away, just in case Aziraphale was watching his departure, and then doubled back, flying low over the newly-uncovered ground. Many months ago, he had assured his superiors that he would corrupt a certain pious old man, and that task remained.

Alighting on a mountain peak neighboring the one on which the ark perched, the demon watched as a seemingly infinite line of animals filed from the massive door of the ark. Finally, they'd all trailed out.

Many of the creatures lingered nearby, munching on the sprouts of green just beginning to resurface among the rocks and loam — Crowley took a moment to rejoice at the fact that plants had made it through the flood, after all. Others broke into a run as soon as they'd escaped the confines of the boat, stretching their legs for the first time in ages. They bounded across the stretch of summit or even beyond it, down the mountain's sloping side and onward into the empty world.

As every animal and human alike made their way into the fresh air, Noah — spry despite his tremendous age — wasted no time in gathering together stones for an altar. Crowley watched as the ancient man and his grandchildren piled the rocks high, while his three sons rounded up animals.

Aziraphale had told Crowley far back in the trip that seven, rather than just two, of each of the animals considered "clean" had been brought onto the ark. Crowley now saw why, and rolled his eyes: sacrifice. It seemed an awful inconvenience to the demon to lug creatures onto a boat and feed them for the duration of a huge flood, only to gather them up and kill them as soon as they'd made it to dry land again. But that would be, as his heavenly counterpart always said, "the ineffable way."

How was he going to get such a revoltingly devout man to turn to sin?

The humans, and Aziraphale with them, gathered around the altar as the chosen victims — sheep, a bull, and several birds — were slain. After several minutes, they all turned their heads upward, and Crowley did likewise. He gasped as a multicolored arc appeared in the sky above, between two clouds. A sense of wonder came to him — the vibrant, translucent bow was beautiful and, for some reason, filled him with hope.

Crowley loitered around the encampment the humans set up, keeping out of sight but causing trouble where he could. Clothes hung out to dry came loose and whirled away in the wind, berries found growing close by turned out to cause rashes, and tools left unattended outside went missing.

It wasn't long before he'd devised a plan to corrupt Noah.

The humans set about farming the land — turns out they _had_ brought some seeds on board with them, though only the kind they could plant for food — and Noah himself started a vineyard. It was this vineyard that sparked an idea in Crowley's brain.

Every night the demon stole into the encampment and tended to the grapevines springing up. With his supernatural care, they grew faster and more fruitfully than they would have otherwise, and soon enough the old man was able to prepare wine from them.

The wine was only several days into its fermenting process when Crowley decided tonight was the night to enact his scheme. The camp was quiet, and Aziraphale nowhere in sight, when he slipped into Noah's tent with a large bottle of wine, fully fermented, in his hands.

Despite being startled by a stranger's sudden appearance in his tent, Noah did not need much convincing after Crowley informed him he was an angel to accept the gift of wine.

They drank deep into the night, Crowley mentally nudging Noah along every time the old man seemed about to put down his cup. The bottle never emptied.

Not long before dawn, Crowley slipped from the tent, willing the alcohol from his veins as he went — now was not a wise time to be drunk. He'd left the old man passed out cold on his mattress, and naked — for some reason when he was about nine drinks in, Noah had decided to do away with his tunic.

Now for the final component of his plan. Crowley entered another tent, where he found Ham, his wife, and his young son fast asleep. Pushing aside the pang of remorse — once again he would be getting this likeable human in trouble — he prodded the man awake.

"Come to your father's tent," he said, casting a fog on Ham's mind so that he would not wonder who Crowley was; "he needs you."

Noah's youngest son hurried out into the pre-dawn stillness, rushing to his father's aid. With supernatural foresight, Crowley knew all that was to come from the seed he had planted in Noah's heart: Ham would see his father, sprawled and naked, and tell his brothers, who would enter the tent pre-warned, able to cover Noah's indignity without witnessing it for themselves. Ham would incur the wrath of his father for what he could not help seeing. He and his family would be cast out, forever cursed, and Crowley would follow them into their exile: while Noah's inheritors would enjoy a heavenly companion in their lives, Ham would have to make do with an infernal one. It was better for them, he figured, than being left utterly alone in the wilderness.

A rustle of noise from a far off tent — Aziraphale. Their gazes connected, and for one instant Crowley could have sworn he saw something like delight in the angel's eyes — but no, surely not, for a moment later those dark brown eyes held nothing but fury.

No time to fly away; Aziraphale would follow.

A small _pop_ and a serpent was slithering, sleek body shimmering in the tendrils of sun just reaching over the horizon, into the grass, which had grown tall and thick.

The sigh of scales against the soil whispered regret: for forty days and nights and then some, an angel and a demon had learned to get along. Now, however, it was time for the demon to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, sorry to end on a sort of sad note, but if you've made it this far, I hope you enjoyed this fic! It's not all sad, I promise - the bonds Aziraphale and Crowley formed on the ark will play a role in future relations between them and their eventual Arrangement. But that's all a story for another day.
> 
> (Also, wow, this was a hard chapter to write just because of how much /time/ I had to fill -- I wish the Hebrew storytellers hadn't adapted the length of the flood from the Babylonian version so severely! A week of rain and a week for the world to dry again, nice and simple, good work Gilgamesh. But no, instead it has to be 40 days of rain, 150 days of nothing before they hit Mt. Ararat, another 40 days before Noah tries sending out birds, and several more weeks before they can FINALLY get off the dang boat. Ridiculous.)


End file.
